


Pieces of Trash

by Justlookup



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama & Romance, Drug Use, M/M, Sure wish it were canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 22:59:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10346508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justlookup/pseuds/Justlookup
Summary: In which Sammi does not overstay her welcome after ratting Ian out and Mickey gets impatient.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what this is even or why I was compelled to write it. Closure maybe?

 

He's lighting up a fourth cigarette, eyes locked onto the green mileage sign pointing out the exit ramp for the military base. He had woken up that morning with a leap in his step, having finally tossed Sammi out on her ass the night before with the unlikely help from Fiona, who had managed to pull her head out of her own shit for two seconds to take care of the family she claimed to care so much about. So he showered, took a dump, pulled on that shirt of his that made that little glint sparkle in Ian’s eyes whenever he wore it and headed to the lockup alone, all while reassuring himself for the millionth time that Ian was okay. They'd let him out; they’d see he was fucked in the head. They had to.

So much for that bout of confidence, he thinks, tossing the cigarette butt out the window to join the growing pile. He should've just stuck around at the Gallaghers and headed out with Fiona as planned. He was too much of a pussy to go alone. But he knows he’d be doing the same thing he’s doing now back at the house - chain smoking and worrying over the uncertainty of everything. Besides, he was too damned impatient to wait around any longer.

Mickey plucks the case of smokes up from the cup holder, flips the top open and closed, contemplating a fifth before saying fuck it and tossing the case into the back seat. He looks out the windshield at the mileage sign that's been taunting his ass for the last half-hour and turns the key, starting up the engine. He pulls back out onto the highway without his blinker and heads for the off ramp a quarter of a mile away from him.

He’s not even a foot down the road, on his way to the base, when he hears the giggling floating into the cracked window of the car. He checks the riverview, feeling his stomach drop at the sight. Ian’s slumped at the waist, walking like a fucking zombie. His coppery hair bounces off sunlight, making his head shine like a damn beacon. The woman is ahead of him, pretty far up in fact, but her giggling is so damn loud she may as well be in the car with Mickey. She’s dancing through the knee-high weeds like a fucking bunny - bouncing on her feet, twirling - like she ain’t got a care in the world.

Mickey’s never met her, but he knows it’s Monica.

He cuts the wheel and swings the car around, tires burning up on the asphalt. Ian’s head turns at the sound, but his face is empty as though he doesn't recognize the car. Monica spins around when she hears the tires crunching on the gravel on the shoulder of the road as Mickey pulls over by Ian, who’s stopped walking and stares down. She prances over, shouting out excitedly and throwing her arm around Ian’s hunched shoulders.

“Oooh Ian! We got a ride already!” Mickey lowers the passenger window, trying to catch Ian’s eye. “That’s gotta be some kind of record, huh?” The octave of her voice makes Mickey grit his teeth. She pulls away from Ian and throws open the back door, climbing into his car with no hesitation and sprawling out on the seat. She turns back to Ian like he’s an afterthought and beckons him forward with her hand.

“Come on sweetie! Let’s go.”

He looks up at her, then flits his eyes over to Mickey, who hasn’t looked away yet, before he moves forward and pulls open the passenger door and folds himself into the seat. Monica just shrugs and shuts the back door before she scoots forward and rests her body on the center console. She’s eyeing Mickey and her lips are curling up in a godawful smile.

“You mind backing the fuck up,” He finally exclaims, hand gripping the steering wheel hard, knuckles going white.

Monica falls back against the seat with a huff, but she’s still got that loopy grin plastered on her pasty-ass face. “He’s a cutie huh Ian?”

Mickey glances over at his boyfriend, hoping to see some kind of emotion on face. Ian’s looking down at his hands, which are trembling on his lap. Mickey reaches over the gap between them and rests his hand over Ian’s, halting the shaking. He finally looks up then, his green eyes glazed over and the corners of his mouth angled down. Mickey almost prefers the lack of expression.

“We’re going to Disneyland! Right sweetheart?” Monica exclaims in the back, bouncing around in her seat, “I’ve always wanted to go there. Ooh, or the Grand Canyon! I heard it’s beautiful.”

Ian’s just staring into Mickey’s eyes, even when a tear finally escapes and trickles down his cheek. Mickey’s just trying to wrap his head around the fact that Ian’s here, in his car; that he's free. He leans in close before he can over think things and locks his lips with Ian’s, his free hand coming up to brush against his cheek and into his orange hair. He pulls away much too soon when Ian’s lips stay firm.

“So you're Mickey, huh?” Mickey had almost forgotten about Monica sitting in the backseat, watching their quasi-reunion, “I've heard a lot about you, mister.”

“Yeah, ditto,” Mickey grumbles, shifting the car into drive and heading back to the freeway. “Where should I dump this bitch, man?” He asks Ian quietly as Monica settles herself in the back, peering out the window and chattering away a mile a minute about horseshit.

“Anywhere s’fine,” Ian mumbles, eyes locked back down onto his hands.

Mickey looks forward out at the expanse of highway before them, chewing on his lip. He’s got a million fucking questions for the shithead next to him who seems to be one second away from bailing out the car, regardless of the fact that they're traveling well over the set speed limit.

“So they let you out, huh?”  He finally settles on, thinking this conversation will go a lot more smoothly if he starts off with the easy shit.

“Yep,” his boyfriend responds, monotonously.

“That's a fucking relief.” A smile breaks out across Mickey's face despite his best efforts.

“Yep.”

The smile falls from his face as soon as it has come. He chances a glance over at Ian, who's glancing out the window, which Mickey thinks is an improvement from his goddamned hands.

“Ooh pancakes!” Monica pokes her head between the two seats, throwing herself on the center console again, pointing a twitching arm at a billboard for a diner a few miles ahead. “We have to stop for pancakes!” She casts her eyes to Mickey and meets his glare, “Don’t worry, I’ll buy.” She starts running her hand up and down his arm and he shrugs away from her touch.

“The only shit we’re stopping for is dropping your whacked ass off.” Ian backhands his shoulder.

“Mick.” He turns his head to Ian and can't help smiling again at the pseudo-anger he is clearly forcing on his face.

“Alright, alright. Let's get some fucking pancakes.” Mickey caves, slapping on his blinker and cutting across lanes to the fast approaching off ramp. The car he cuts off honks at them. 

* * *

He's smashed against the wall, Ian pressed right up to his side, in the booth seat that was clearly intended for one person. He's itching for a smoke to cool his nerves, not looking forward to the conversation he knows he needs to have with his boyfriend.

Monica is standing up at the counter by the register, flirting with the server. She's got her ass stuck out in the air, half her body splayed on the counter, resting on her elbows.

“I jus gotta ask,” Mickey starts finally, looking adamantly down at his pancakes.

“Hmm?”

“You weren't coming back home, were you?” He clenches his jaw, afraid to hear the answer. Ian takes a couple minutes to answer.

“I'm not sure.”

Mickeys eyes tear up and he blinks hard and fast to clear it away. He isn't crying like a little bitch in public. And he sure as shit isn't giving Ian the satisfaction of seeing him cry either. Fuck him.

“How'd she even know where you fucking were?”

“We - uh - never lost touch,” Ian replies, poking at his food with his fork. He hadn't taken a bite yet, Mickey noticed, just cut it all to pieces, over and over again.

“You coming home now?” And Mickey finally looks up at him, and their eyes meet. Ian nods slowly.

“Would you really let me go?”

He reaches his hand under the table then, and grabs firmly to Ian's thigh - the one pressed right up against his.

“Never.”

* * *

 They pull up at the house when the sun is setting up ahead, bathing the sky in a pink glow. Monica has fallen silent in the backseat, much to Mickey's delight. She had talked almost non stop since he'd picked the two up. Ian is the first to step out, slamming the door loudly behind him, stirring Monica from her stupor.

“Where are we?” She sits up on the seat, holding her head. Her hair is in tangles on one half of her head and her fingers get caught in them when she attempts to pull her hand away.

“Way I see it, you can get outta this car and walk. Forget this day happened; forget about Ian.” Monica is about to open her mouth and protest, but he holds his hand up and sees her flinch back from it and close her trap in the mirror. “Or you can step foot in that house and we’ll see what kind of welcome they roll out for you. My money says it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Mickey glances out the passenger window as Ian reaches the door and pulls it open, disappearing inside. The curtains are drawn in the living room, so he can’t see shit going on inside, or if anyone is even home. Monica's making squeaks and gasps from the back, and Mickey pulls his seat-belt off and cracks his door, not wanting to stick around for the water works.

“I didn’t -” she cuts herself off with a sob, “-they're my family.”

“Not anymore,” Mickey says, standing outside the car now, before slamming the door on any other words she’ll try to blubber at him. He pushes the gate out of his way and runs up the path to the front door, which is still cracked open.

“We’ve been callin’ you. Why didn’t ya answer?” Fiona's asking Ian from the crook of his neck. She’s got him locked into a tight hug, Debbie standing to the side, looking ready to cry or laugh. Ian pulls away from Fiona, with one of his fake reunion smiles plastered on his face.

“Sorry, I’ve got it shut off.” He explains simply, as though he hadn’t been planning on running away from these people just a few hours before.

Before Mickey can take another step into the house, he’s getting gut-checked by Debbie, whose wrapping her arms tight around his waist. He keeps an arm hanging limp at his side and the other hovers over her, patting her back until she pulls away.

“I’m glad you’re okay too.” She tells hims quietly. He looks up and makes eye contact with Fiona who nods her head at him in a greeting. It’s short and impersonal, but her eyes are soft, so he returns it with a curt nod of his own. Ian bends down and plucks Liam off the couch and hugs him tightly. Mickey has always loved how he looks with a child in his arms.

* * *

 They end up sleeping in Ian’s small twin-sized again. They’ve left a gap between them, keeping them from touching each other, leaving Mickey hardly any room to get comfortable. But his head is spinning too much to fall asleep anyway so he slips out from the thin sheets and walks downstairs to the back steps. It’s pitch black, the porch-light is out - or broken, he doesn’t fucking know. He lights the last cigarette he has and takes a long first drag, loving the burn. He opened the pack that morning; so much for cutting back. He lets out a scoff.

He’s exhausted, but each time he started to fall asleep, he’d imagine Ian peeling out from the bed and sneaking off into the night. Monica hadn’t come into the house so he figures his threat had sounded promising enough. It was good - the woman was toxic and she did a good job at fucking with Ian’s head.

He takes a final drag from the smoke then flicks it away, pulling himself to his legs on the hand railing. When he gets in the kitchen he is surprised to find the light in the living room on. He walks through the dark kitchen and when he’s under the arch, he sees Ian standing at the fireplace, looking at the pictures and random shit up on the mantle.

“You taking off then,” Mickey state's, jaw clenching tight. Ian turns away from the frames and Mickey is actually shocked to see hurt and surprise on his face.

“Jesus, Mick.” He shakes his head, nostrils flaring, “What is your fucking problem?”

Mickey  approaches him fast then, pressing his chest to Ian’s, getting right up in his face, “My fucking problem? We work our ass off trying to get you out of that fuckin’ place and you just take off the first chance you get, shut your phone off and don’t even give us a second fucking thought.”

“You’re all better off without me.” Ian pulls away, turning his back to Mickey and hanging his head in shame.

“Why the fuck would you even think that?”

“Because you all think you can pull a cure out of your asses if you keep trying,” Ian starts, raising his voice. He turns himself back to Mickey. “But you can’t. There isn’t a cure for this. You can’t fix me.”

“Ian…” His eyes are full of pain, nearly in tears again, and Mickey doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been good with talking, especially when it leads to tears.

“I’m not broken.” Ian finishes, finally letting some tears slip over his eyelids. He stands and stares, waiting for Mickey’s response, but he’s at a loss for words so Ian turns on his heels and heads for the staircase. Before he can go, before he can leave, Mickey finally runs after him. He grabs his arm and pulls and they come together hard and Ian's arms are finally wrapping around him.

“No,” the word is almost a sob from Mickey's throat. “No more running.” Ian has his face pressed into Mickey’s shoulder and he can feel the taller man's tears soak through his threadbare shirt.

Ian had always been an over-emotional bitch, but Mickey can't remember if he'd ever seen him cry like this, and it's scary. Especially when he compares it to this new image of Ian he had constructed in his mind, one void of pretty basic emotions. An Ian who lacked color and life. He hates thinking that way about someone he cares about, but it's hard not to. And he starts thinking that maybe Ian has a point; they were all sitting around thinking about how they can pick up the broken pieces of this man they all loved, never realizing that he hadn’t been broken in the first place. He wasn’t new, just different. And who among them wasn’t different from where they started to where they were now? He certainly was, and Ian didn’t stop loving Mickey over it.

So he pulls back some from Ian's embrace and when he lifts his head up from Mickey’s shoulder, eyes bloodshot and watery, Mickey just grabs for his chin and pulls him down, locking their lips together hard. He isn't very good with his words but this is something he's always been good at. So he tries to say everything he can't in the kiss. And when Ian lowers his arms and grips his hips hard, Mickey thinks he might have actually heard.

They end up in the cubby beneath the stairs; it's only the second time Ian's dick has gotten hard since the meds - since the diagnosis - so Mickey doesn't want to let it go to waste trying to fuck with Liam and Carl sleeping a foot away. They never fuck though; Ian comes hard after Mickey slips him out through the flap on his flannel pants and gives him a few long jerks. He doesn't get anything in return from Ian, but he can't give a shit when he's wrapped up in the redheads long arms.

* * *

 He finally sleeps easy, only jerking awake to the sound of feet pounding down the stairs above him. He can hear a frying pan sizzling in the kitchen, the heavy aroma of bacon lingering in the air around them. He can't help the wide smile that crosses his face when he rises up slightly from the floor only to be halted by Ian's arm pulling him back into his chest.

“Fiona, are your white shorts dirty?” Debbie's shouting across the living room as she jumps off the staircase and walks past the cubby, causing the curtains to flutter up. Mickey catches a glimpse of her bare ass cheeks eating up a thong, and he quickly averts his gaze. “They aren't in your dresser.”

Ian runs his hand up and down Mickey's stomach, beneath his tee, rocking his hips into his ass. His lips are leaving a trail of hot kisses at the nape of Mickey’s neck, then up to his ear where he lets out a deep moan. Mickey feels his dick twitch just as Liam shuffles passed the cubby and hops onto the couch in the living room. He pulls away from Ian, suddenly feeling way too exposed, and crawls out of the small alcove, hopping up onto his feet.

Debbie and Fiona stand in the kitchen, gaping at him through the archway. Debs is pulling on some tattered white shorts, pausing halfway up her thighs to stare at him. He self-consciously fixes the shirt he knows is pulled up from his boyfriends over-eager hands as the shithead himself crawls out of the cubby behind Mickey, smiling up at his sisters while on his hands and knees.

“Uuh, did you two sleep under there?” Fiona finally asks as Debbie pulls the shorts on the rest of the way and does up the button.

“Yeah,” Ian starts, rising up from the floor, “we wanted a little more room than my bed offered.” He's got a goofy grin plastered across his face at his corny ass joke and while Mickey knows he should be pleased to see Ian acting more like himself, he can't help but get upset.

Ian's meds didn't get perfectly balanced over night, with no side effects. Because Ian hadn't taken his meds since he was released. Mickey isn't even sure if he had taken them at all during his stint at the military prison. So this isn't Ian getting better as much as it is the opening act to the main event that is Ian’s manic baby-stealing, bat-swinging phase.

“Ian, where are your meds?” Mickey asks, walking into the kitchen and interrupting his conversation with his sisters.

He gives Mickey the death stare for a millisecond before he cracks a smile and reaches an arm out, tossing it across Mickey's shoulders.

“You still owe me a date you know?”

“How the fuck is that relevant?” Mickey scoffs out, shrugging away from Ian's long arm.

“It’s always relevant,” Ian replies with a shrug, moving to the fridge. He pulls the door open, blocking himself from Mickey's view. Debbie stares at Ian with her lips scrunched up, raking a hand through her thick hair while Fiona turns back to the stove where a pan of bacon sizzles away. She pokes at the curled slices, before she lays out a long sigh.

“Ian, you do need to take them.” Ian turns from the fridge with that silly clueless look on his face, “They here somewhere?” Fiona turns her head over her shoulder at Ian, raising an eyebrow.

It takes a moment for him to respond; Mickey almost thinks he really hadn't heard her. “Of course they are. I didn't exactly get to pack a bag when I was put in handcuffs and thrown in prison.”

Any sign of humor is erased from Ian's face as he brushes by his sisters and ducks up the staircase, leaving Mickey behind to stand awkwardly as the two remaining Gallagher's turn their gazes on him.

“I'm sorry, I wish he'd realize we're tryna help him.” Fiona finally says to Mickey, in a sincerely apologetic tone. Mickey scoffs at her.

“The fuck you sorry for?” Mickey starts for the staircase, eyeing the sisters as he goes. Debbie has walked to the table, sitting at the head seat against the wall, her eyes locked on Mickey. Fiona remains stationed at the stove, face a bit agape at Mickey's tone.

He ducks up the staircase quickly before either sister can respond. He hears Fiona curse after him but he could give a fuck what she has to think. When he gets upstairs he finds Ian sitting in the bathroom on the toilet lid, holding the little orange bottle of meds in his hand. He's looking over into the tub with a clenched jaw. The pills tumble around in the bottle as he slowly rotates it.

Mickey leans against the door-frame and watches, worried he may be intruding on something. After a silent moment filled with nothing but the chatter from the other Gallagher's downstairs, Ian finally turns his head to look at Mickey. Their eyes lock and Mickey hopes he can relay his feelings without having to actually say anything. Because all he wants to say is _please_ . _Please take the fucking meds Ian._

To Mickey's relief, he hears the pop of the lid coming off the prescription bottle. Ian breaks eye contact as he throws his head back and swallows the pills. When they're back to locking eyes with each other, Mickey is surprised to see the tear streak down along his boyfriend's cheek. So he closes the distance between them, places a hand on Ian's shoulder, and presses a firm kiss to his forehead.

  
Ian spends the rest of the day in a stupor. Mickey never leaves his side. 

 


End file.
